


Morning Blues

by doctor__idiot



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Smoking, mentions of spanking, very slight d/s undertones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 20:50:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8860888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor__idiot/pseuds/doctor__idiot
Summary: The handprint on the left cheek of his ass, which had undoubtedly turned an alarming reddish color, still stung when he touched it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little snippet I wrote on Tumblr, inspired by [this picture](https://de.pinterest.com/pin/102034747786344807/).

Dean stood at the window, his breath slowly fogging up the pane. He took a deep drag of the cigarette that was wedged between his index and middle finger and promptly grimaced. He had only had a slice of truck stop pizza for lunch the previous day and the nicotine in combination with his empty stomach made him vaguely nauseous.

He squashed the stub against the window sill, using the ash to draw a pentagram on the wood. He wasn’t even sure why he had kept the cigarettes. He had no intention of taking up smoking. For once, something wasn’t high up on the list of his preferred vices. 

The guy at the club last night had given them to him as a random act of kindness. Or not so random. Dean still wore the guy’s phone number on the inside of his right wrist, nothing but a bluish smudge of writing now after sweat and fingers had smeared it to the point of illegibility. 

He hadn't had any intentions of calling anyway. 

Dean shifted his stance when the glass in front of him had frosted over enough to deprive him of the view – not that it was particularly spectacular; they had stopped in Iowa after all – and he moved a bit to the right. 

Sweat and semen had dried on his skin and it made his thighs stick together when he moved. He didn’t want to ruin his clothes – he had only packed one pair of jeans – but he also couldn’t be bothered to shower. 

It should really be disgusting but all Dean could feel were the numerous bite marks and bruises, especially the ones on his hips that would probably be a nice shade of purple tomorrow. He wanted to revel in the feeling a bit longer. He occasionally twisted his torso left and right on purpose to feel the tug of abused skin.

The handprint on the left cheek of his ass, which had undoubtedly turned an alarming reddish color, still stung when he touched it. Running his fingers over it gently was enough to make it twinge again and raise goosebumps on his skin. 

He was sore all over and he had slept for nearly ten hours straight. Half an hour ago, the restlessness had driven him out of bed.

He wiped across the window with his forearm, the cold moisture from the fog eliciting a shiver. 

They hadn’t bothered to turn on the heating as November hadn’t quite rolled around yet. But even so the room had slowly begun to cool and Dean was starting to feel chilly dressed in nothing but Sam’s white, wrinkled T-shirt from the day before.

“At least open a window when you do that,” Sam’s sleep-rough voice came from behind and Dean gave a start.

He turned and found his brother sitting upright in the king-sized motel bed, blanket pooling around his mid-section, tanned chest bare and his hair tousled from the pillows. His forehead had wrinkled in a frown and he was scrunching up his nose in disapproval.

With a practiced motion, Dean chucked what was left of the cigarettes into the trash can near the door. 

“Mornin’,” he drawled.

Sam smiled at him, reluctantly, almost shyly. But Sam wasn’t shy. As much as Dean liked to poke fun at him, liked to go through the ‘antisocial virgin’ routine, Sam had always been the more naturally outgoing of the two of them. The more genuinely confident one.

“Come back here,” he said now and Dean obeyed without thinking. His legs were moving before his brain had had time to fully process the request. A Pavlovian response. And Sam’s voice was his stimulus, no matter the reward.

He shivered again as he crawled back under the covers, delicious warmth engulfing him before Sam’s arms did. Sam buried his face in the crook of Dean’s neck, holding onto him tightly, and Dean winced slightly when his brother’s weight against him made his sore, stinging ass rub uncomfortably against the mattress.

He wiggled around until he was lying on his side and wrapped his own arms around Sam. The sun already stood high in the sky but today wasn’t a day on which anyone would miss them if they simply stayed where they were.


End file.
